


Unforeseen

by pineapplefan



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplefan/pseuds/pineapplefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Caffrey would never let himself go out in such a plain way." Tag to Episode 1x14, Out of the Box. Two-Shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Peter thinks he understands.

But the truth of the matter is, he's never lost someone like that. He's never seen the love of his life go up in flames in front of his eyes.

So he can't really understand the anguish his CI is experiencing. But he can see it.

The outburst Neal had today while reviewing the case was clue enough. The simple question of, "What do you think, Neal?" is what starts it all.

The "I don't know," that Neal throws back at him is laced with malice and contempt. "Some legwork would've been nice. This barely even qualifies as a case." Neal pushes the file in front of him with great force, and sends papers flying around the conference room. Then he pushes his chair back and glares out the window.

 _Yep,_  Peter thinks.  _He's definitely moved on to the anger stage._

"Neal!" Diana admonishes and goes to collect the papers.

Jones raises his eyebrows at Peter as if to say,  _"Are you really going to let him talk to you like that?"_  
  
It's been almost two weeks since Kate passed and Peter has been watching Neal closely. Today has been particularly tense for his young CI.

Neal had been short with him all morning. One-word answers, an occasional eye roll, no witty banter… Peter misses it – what it was like before the explosion.

Peter sighs because, no, he's not going to let his informant speak to him in that way.

"Neal," he says. "I'd like to see you in my office. Now."

xxx

"Have a seat," Peter says, motioning for his CI to sit down.

They've moved into his office, and Peter is trying to formulate the right words to say. He's been trying to do that a lot lately.

"I don't want to," Neal returns coldly, like a stubborn prepubescent teen.

Peter doesn't want to offend Neal, otherwise he might've laughed at how childish the con sounded. "Okay, suit yourself." He reminds himself to be firm, because Neal's behavior would have been inexcusable, given any other circumstance. "You mind telling me what that little outburst back there was about?"

Neal turns his head, won't look Peter in the eye. Peter notices his hands are clenched into fists.

"Neal?" Peter prompts.

"It was nothing," he mumbles.

Peter scoffs at that. "It wasn't nothing. You deliberately disrespected me in front of my colleagues and that will simply not be tolerated moving forward." He pauses for a moment, waits for an apology. When it doesn't come, he takes a deep breath. "You understand that being a confidential informant is a  _privilege,_ don't you?"

Neal continues to glare out the window. Peter can practically  _see_ him quaking with rage.

He sighs, softens his voice. "Listen, Neal, I know these past couple of weeks have been difficult for you. And I've tried to be patient—"

"I'm fine," Neal interrupts through gritted teeth.

"You're not."

"Yes I am!" Neal shouts, face reddening. He meets Peter's eyes. "Stop acting like you have to walk on eggshells around me! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of everyone treating me like I'm about to break in half! I'm  _fine_!"

Peter raises his eyebrows during the rant. "Clearly."

Neal has never acted in this way before, and it's troubling. Peter doesn't know how to make this right. He licks his lips. "Look, Neal. It's obvious you're upset. I'd like for you to talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you."

Peter blinks, tries hard to not be offended. "Okay," he says gently. "Then I want you to leave."

Neal folds his arms across his chest. "What?"

Peter sighs. "You're too emotional to work. I want you to go home. Clear you head. Cool off.  _Grieve_ for heaven's sake. We'll talk tomorrow."

"No, Peter."

"That wasn't a suggestion, Neal."

Neal's jaw drops a little – like he can't even begin to fathom that Peter is being serious. "Fine," he grits out harshly. He turns on his heel and storms out, letting the door slam behind him.

Peter flinches at the sound.

And he doesn't understand at all.

xxx

Neal wasn't wrong. The case  _is_  barely a case.

Peter, Jones, and Diana are back in the conference room, searching for leads on a supposedly crooked pharmaceutical company. So far they've come up empty.

It's nearing lunchtime when Peter's personal phone rings. He sighs when he sees Caffrey's name appear on the I.D. screen.

"This better be good," he answers.

" _Peter_?" Neal's voice is quiet. Timid. It's a complete 180 from the precedent hour.

Peter is suddenly alert. He pushes his work away, clutches the receiver to his ear. "Neal?" He hears some rustling on the other end. Something that sounds like traffic. "Neal, are you there?"

It's quiet for a moment and then:  _"Yeah. M'here."_

"Are you at home?"

 _"No, I'm…"_  his breath hitches.  _"I-I don't know… where…"_  
  
Neal's voice is tentative, innocent even. And that sends warning signals off in Peter's brain like nothing else. He swallows hard. "You don't know where you are?"

_"No. I don't know how I got here."_

"What do you mean? Neal, what's going on? Are you hurt?"

At that, Jones and Diana stop researching and look up at Peter. He holds up a finger and listens closely.

 _"Something's wrong, Pet'r,"_  Neal slurs, and it's so soft that Peter has to strain to hear him. _"E-Everything's blurry and my head hurts really bad…"_

Peter's stomach drops and panic starts to sweep over him. He reaches for his laptop to do a search on Neal's anklet, keeping the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. "Neal, are you safe? You weren't attacked, were you?"

 _"No… I… I'm alone,"_ Neal answers.  _"I-I don't know…"_

"Okay," Peter soothes, not wanting his CI to get worked up. "Neal, I want you to stay where you are," he instructs. "I'm tracking your anklet and I'm going to come find you. I'm going to get you help, okay?"

 _"Okay,"_  Neal responds, his voice cracking a little.  _"Can you hurry?"_

"I will, Neal. Just hold on for me." Peter pulls up the location of Neal's anklet – it appears he's in an alley near the corner of Broadway and White Street, which is only about four blocks from the Bureau. He hadn't made it far since they parted.

"Boss?" Diana says anxiously.

"Neal?" Peter says into the phone. "I need to hang up now, okay? Stay where you are."

He hangs up the receiver without waiting for a response.

Jones and Diana stand up. "What's going on, Peter?" Jones asks.

"That was Neal," Peter informs them, trying to stay calm, but he can feel his heart racing in his chest. "Something's wrong. Diana, I need you to phone for an ambulance. Have it sent to Broadway and White."

Diana doesn't hesitate, doesn't ask questions. "Yessir."

"I'm going to look for him," Peter says, grabbing his cellphone and stuffing it in his pocket.

He takes off out the door, not wanting to waste any more time.

As he runs down the Bureau's stairs, he hears Jones's voice from behind him.

"I'm coming with you."


	2. Chapter 2

Peter does not consider himself an overly athletic man. Sure, he lifts weights and occasionally goes for a jog to keep in shape for work, but he can't remember the last time he went full-out sprinting like is right now.

In dress shoes, no less.

He can hear Jones' breathing behind him, can feel him at his heels as they run the four blocks to the alley they believe Neal to be in. Four blocks is not that far away, but with the summer heat and the unrelenting trepidation in Peter's gut, it feels like an eternity before they arrive.

They come to a staggering halt at the base of the alleyway just parallel to Broadway Street.

"Do you seem him?" Peter asks Jones desperately, because all he can see is a dumpster and some wooden crates.

"I-I see… a shoe…" Jones answers, struggling to catch his breath. He points towards the dumpster and nudges Peter forward. "C'mon!"

As they run the remaining twenty yards to the dumpster, Peter realizes that Jones was right. There is a shoe – a shoe that's connected to an outstretched leg, peaking out beyond the dumpster.

"Oh, God," Peter breathes when he takes in the sight of his CI, collapsed on the ground, head resting against the side of the grimy dumpster. He has one leg pulled up to his chest, the other is akimbo. The shadows from the alley are hiding his face, but it doesn't take a detective to know that the man before him is extremely unwell. Peter drops down in front of him, unsure if Neal is even conscious – unsure if he should touch him. "Neal?"

Neal makes a low keening sound in the back of his throat. "Pet'r?" He reaches a shaky arm out, blindly, for Peter.

Peter takes ahold of his hand, squeezes it gently. "Yeah. I'm here, Neal," he says softly. "What's goin' on, huh?"

Neal doesn't – or can't – answer.

Peter wishes he could see his face – get a better look at him. In the distance he can hear sirens and he thanks the heavens for Diana and her ability to follow orders. "Go flag down the ambulance," he instructs Jones, as he reaches to cup Neal's cheek.

As Jones' hurried footsteps fade a way, Peter tries to turn Neal's cheek so his face is out of the shadows. "C'mon, buddy. Let me take a look at you." But Neal resists with a strength Peter didn't know he had.

"No, please, _no_ ," Neal whimpers, bringing up a hand to cover his eyes. Peter can hear the pain – _agony_ – in his voice. Even in the dark, he can see that Neal is trembling.

"Okay, okay," Peter says as calmly as he can muster, realizing that light must cause the pain in Neal's head to skyrocket. He settles down in the spot beside Neal, desperate to provide comfort _somehow._

He places a hand on the young man's shoulder, overcome by a sudden, unpleasant stench that fills his nostrils. He realizes, with overwhelming empathy, that Neal must have vomited before he and Jones arrived.

Peter can hear Neal swallowing convulsively between his muffled moans, and he deduces that nausea is still a pressing matter. He starts to rub Neal's sweat-soaked back, but stops when it seems to cause his CI even more pain.

"Sorry, sorry!" Peter apologizes, frantically. At a loss, he says, "Hang in there, Neal. An ambulance is on its way."

To which Neal responds by starting to gag, and despite his cries of pain, Peter tilts his head forward to keep him from choking on his emesis. Liquid erupts from Neal's mouth and it kills Peter that he can't do anything to help.

Vomit dribbles down Neal's chin and he sags forward, falling limp against his raised knee, unconscious.

He starts going into convulsions just as the paramedics arrive.

xxx

A ruptured cerebral aneurysm.

That's what had happened.

Peter can't believe it, can't comprehend that his indestructible CI is currently fighting for his life.

Neal was whisked off into surgery – life on the line – and Peter and Diana are sitting numbly in the waiting room while Jones offers to get them some coffee.

"You holdin' up?" he asks when he returns, extending a cup of hospital sludge toward Peter.

Peter looks up and runs a hand through his hair before accepting the coffee. "Yeah," he breathes. "Thanks." He sets the coffee on the corner table next to him.

Jones hands a cup over to Diana and sits down in the open seat next to the table. "You call Elizabeth?"

Peter nods. "She's on her way." His voice is uneven and his colleagues pick up on it.

Diana squeezes his knee gently. "He's going to be okay, Boss. You'll see." She bumps shoulders with him. "Caffrey would never let himself go out in such a plain way."

That gets a chuckle out of Peter. Diana has always been his rock during trying times.

xxx

The surgery was successful, the doctors tell Peter, hours later.

From what Peter understands, a titanium clip was placed across the neck of Neal's aneurysm, allowing for blood flow through the artery.

"This is typically a very invasive surgery," the doctor explains to Peter and Elizabeth. Jones and Diana had left for the night, but were planning on returning the following morning. "Fortunately, the aneurysm was easily accessible to us. We were able to insert the clip with no incident."

Elizabeth squeezes Peter's hand. "So he's going to be okay?" she asks hopefully.

The doctor averts his eyes. "Unfortunately, we will not know the extent of the damage to Neal's brain until he wakes up," he laments. He continues on, talking about permanent and life-altering problems he could have, and all Peter hears is that even when Neal wakes up, he may not be Neal anymore.

The one thing he can do is hold onto to the fact that Neal survived the surgery, and take it one step at a time.

xxx

"Only you," Peter whispers over an onslaught of emotions. "Only you would manage to come out of this unscathed."

Neal flashes a bright smile at him and reaches up to his bandaged head. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm _completely_ unscathed." His eyes scan over Peter. "You look terrible."

Peter snorts a laugh that embodies the immense relief he feels. "Well, staying awake worrying about your sorry ass for two straight days will do that to a guy. Besides, you're one to talk."

Neal rolls his eyes. "I always look good," he insists.

Peter narrows his eyebrows. "You do realize that I found you in an alleyway, covered in your own vomit, right?"

Neal considers. "Well, hey, at least I'm not going gray in my 30s."

Peter chuckles again. "Cheap shot." He points at Neal. "Especially when you're the _reason_ I'm going gray. Stunts like this." He motions around the hospital room. "You really scared us, Neal."

Neal softens his gaze. "I know I did," he says. "I'm sorry." He rubs at his forehead tiredly. "You know, I don't even remember going into work that day."

Peter nods. "Yeah, I didn't think you would. You weren't yourself." He hangs his head. "I should've known something was wrong, but I just sent you home. Practically kicked you out of my office."

"It wasn't your fault, Peter," Neal tries to assure him. "I'm okay."

"You could've _died_ ," Peter emphasizes.

"But I didn't."

Peter runs his hands through his hair. "You know, doctors have deemed you the luckiest guy on Earth."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because the light in Neal's eyes flickers. "I don't feel very lucky," he whispers, turning his gaze away from Peter to look out the window.

And Peter knows he is thinking about Kate.

Peter extends an arm to squeeze Neal's hand. "Hey," he says softly. "Maybe this is for the best. Now you can take some time to grieve."

Neal bites down on his lip, and nods jerkily. "Yeah," he agrees, using his free hand to wipe at his eyes.

Peter runs a soothing thumb over the back of Neal's hand. "You're going to be okay, Neal."

"Yeah," Neal says softly. "I know I will be." He was quiet for a long moment before he cleared his throat gruffly. "You know, I think the doctors forgot one thing when they deemed me the luckiest guy on Earth," he says.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"They overlooked the fact I'm stuck with the _sappiest_ guy on Earth."

Peter laughed. A full belly laugh that hadn't surfaced in a long time. Neal could downplay his masculinity all he wanted – all that mattered to Peter was that Neal was okay.

He was still his partner.

He was still proud.

He was still sharp as a tack.

He was still _Neal_.


End file.
